


Arrows and Roses [DreamNotFound]

by Brixookie



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Background Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch, Clay | Dream is Bad at Feelings (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream is Called Clay (Video Blogging RPF), Dom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Established Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Gay, Fights, Fluff, Flustered GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Gay Pride, Ghosts, M/M, Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Minecraft, Mutual Pining, POV Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), POV GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Pining, Protective Karl Jacobs, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Zak Ahmed Loves Darryl Noveschosch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brixookie/pseuds/Brixookie
Summary: George didn't know how to react when his vision cleared up, but he wasn't expecting to meet a boy with the most striking smile that he had ever seen, and he certainly wasn't expecting for this boy to change his world.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Kudos: 14





	1. One

Pain. That's all I feel. Sharp thudding pain. It engulfs me. I feel like a ball on a court, tossed and beaten until broken and useless. And then I feel the air drain from my lungs and I start to fall.

I hear a voice. It's warm and calm. I snap my eyes open all of the memories flooding back. I was going to tear the first person I see to pieces.

"You're dead." The boy said softly, looking into my eyes.

"No shit Sherlock." I replied hastily anger burning behind my eyes shock turning to fear and instinct. "Apparently so are you. But I don't go around pointing out the obvious bullet hole in your neck." I snapped. I wasn't angry at the blonde himself, I was pissed that I just got hit by a car and died.

"No need to get defensive already." The boy huffed and folded his arms around his chest. Obviously taken aback by my hostile behavior. Crap, I just completely ruined my first impression.

"O-oh. Sorry, uhm. How do I make this not awkward?" I looked down at my feet and what the fuck.

My body was laying in the road covered in blood. My eyes were frozen in fear and tears were sitting waiting to fall and stain my cheeks with the all to familiar taste of salt and a broken heart. My hair was splayed across my forehead and my ribs were crushed. The shattered bone broke through the fabric of my blue t-shirt and stained the pavement with scarlet liquid.

I stumbled backward, my eyes wide and hands trembling. I didn't want to see it. I want to take it back. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to even my breathing. It hit me all at once. I was dead. I was dead.

"No. No. This is a dream. I'm not dead. I'm not dead." I trip as I stumbled backwards. A silent sob escapes my lips as I wait for impact.

But it never comes.

I shake as I hear the same voice again and feel sturdy arms wrap around my waist.

"Did you say my name?" The voice purrs into my left ear.

Shit.


	2. Two

This was messed up. I'm not supposed to be dead. Why is this guy even here? Why is he holding me? I was to shocked to care. The weight of the situation had just caught up to me and I wasn't prepared. I sank into his embrace.

"It's alright. You'll get over the initial shock soon. Just don't look at it." The blonde whispers to me, cradling my torso in his arms. I don't like the way he speaks to me. His voice is strange.

Slowly I regain focus, my hands are still trembling. I release a shaky breath.

"You good now?" He inquiries.

His voice brings me back to reality. Now fully aware of the intimacy in the gesture this random boy has shown me, I freak out. I rush forward breaking my way out of his arms.

"Don't touch me." I say glaring at him. I miss the warmth already. I berate myself for wanting his touch again.

"What did I ever do to you?" He asks, annoyed once again. His voice shifts from a soft tone that's sweet like honey and roses to stone cold and expressionless. He lets his hands fall to his sides.

"I- Just... I don't like... physical touch. Sorry." I reply closing my eyes. And refusing to look at him. He sighs. I don't think this guy is very fond of me. Definitely my fault.

"Fine. I won't do it again." Well so much for feeling his touch. "Besides I guess I did violate your lines a bit. You don't know me very well." That gives off the impression that you know me I just don't know you. I think to myself.

I shift uncomfortably at my own thoughts.

"So what's your name...?" He asks. I finally look at him. The blonde looks tired and...nervous? That's strange.

"I'll only tell you mine if you tell me yours." I huff, deciding to avoid his gaze once again.

"Dream. " He says in a monotone voice. I want him to speak to me in the other tone. But I don't voice these thoughts.

"Dream?" I look back at him and cock my head to the side. "So that's why he responded like that before..." I mumble. "I'm George."

"Well hello George. It's my pleasure." I take a mental note that he avoided my questioning of his 'name.' Dream exaggerates his words and makes an attempt to mock my accent. He bows forward and makes a motion of taking off a hat with a wink and a smile as well.

And I think I might have a heart attack on the spot. His smile was beautiful and captivating. It shined and it was tilted to the left side of his face ever so slightly so it had the mischievous glint of a smirk. It took my breath away. 

As this strange boy who found me dead on the road laughed at his own joking behaviour I noticed the small details. He was...well beautiful to say the least. He had light freckles dotting his nose and cheeks. His eyebrows were perfectly formed and a wavy pile of soft dirty blond hair sat on his head falling over his eyes that were a brilliant yellow color. I knew better though. His eyes are green.

I'm just colorblind.

Dream must have noticed I was staring because he stopped laughing and raised an eyebrow asking a silent question.

I averted my gaze and blushed at the ground. Curse my easily flustered mind and fluttering heart. As I was beating myself up about the way I reacted to Dreams smile someone must have finally noticed the wreck that was on the road because both me and Dream heard rushing footsteps, heavy breathing, and the ringing of a phone.

I immediately went into defence mode and tried to locate the source of the noise. I whipped around and sure enough there was a woman that looked to be about 30 with long black hair and pale skin pressed up against the wall of an apartment building staring wide-eyed at my 'scene.' I didn't dare look back at it.

She was hyperventilating. Her phone stopped ringing and she started talking.

"Y-yes, oh my god it's terrible..." The poor woman looks so scared. She brings her knuckles to her lips and bites them anxiously. "I-I dont... His ribs are broken." she pauses again. Her eyes go wide. "N-no, there's no way.. he's... a-alive, he isn't breathing."

Dream walks up behind me and sighs. "We can go you know. You don't have to watch this." There it is again. That soft sweet voice. The one I want playing on repeat but strongly dislike at the same time. Why does he have to use that tone?

I block out the rest of the conversation the woman is having on the phone and turn to face Dream.

"Yeah, I'll go." I say walking past him. "It was nice meeting you, Dream."


	3. Three

What? He can't seriously think he can wander around alone. I run up to him so we're side by side. 

"Hey, no no no. I'm coming with you."

He freezes and turns to face me. But there's no room for argument, I won't have my new friend getting himself killed for a second time in the span of 24 hours. Am I even his friend? Scratch that. I'm not his friend. Yet.

"What why?" George asks clearly confused as to why I was willing to go with him. 

"Because you know like, nothing about the whole ghost thing." I say throwing my hands up in the air and looking down at him. It's then that I notice how short George actually is.

I wheeze.

He must have mistaken my broken laugh for some sort of pained whine because he reacts as if I'm suffocating. Which probably isn't far off.

"Dream, Dream what the heck?" His voice is laced with concern and his own idiocy and inability of recognizing that I'm not in fact dying only makes me wheeze more.

"Y-you're," I crumble in on myself continuing to wheeze uncontrollably. "So short!" Tears begin to accumulate in the corners of my eyes as I try desperately to regain my composure. I grasp at my stomach trying to not fall on my knees in front of George. 

That definitely wouldn't make the situation any better.

"What!? I am not short! I'm average. Your just tall!" George shouts with playful annoyance.

I finally fall to my knees and hunch over. coughing from emptying all the air in my lungs. My fingers dig into the pavement as tears finally fall from my eyes. 

I was in hysterics.

"Oh my God, why is my height so funny to you?" George asks exasperated.

I don't know.

I feel his presence inch closer to mine as he kneels in front of me. I cough and wheeze into my shoulder finally calming down.

I look up at him and our eyes meet.

"Your angry British accent is cute." The words just slip out. I don't know why I said that, I have absolutely no idea.

I feel my face heat up as my previous words set into the once comfortable silence. George's eyes widen ever so slightly and the tips of his ears tint a petal pink. The streetlights reflect in his chocolate brown eyes. 

Like melted chocolate and honey.

Neither of us look away. Our eyes are locked together searching for something hidden in the cracks and swirls of emotion buried beneath the colors that fill the doorway to the soul.

What is this?


	4. Four

I awkwardly clear my throat and tear my eyes away from his. I clamber to my feet and brush off my knees.

George stands up as well and we both look around at our surroundings trying to find a subject to talk about without acknowledging the tension in the air. Eventually I just decide to ramble about stuff George should probably learn.

"Uh, let me tell you about how the ghost world works..." I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Go ahead." George gives a terse nod while fiddling with his fingers.

My mind runs a million miles an hour trying to find a starting point. There's a lot to go over and we're going to be here a while.

"Well, sit down. We don't need to stand." I lower down onto the curb underneath a street light that's washing over the pavement with a warm yellow glow. George does the same and looks at me expectantly.

I lean back on my hands and look up at the cloudy sky.

"For one," I start. " You may think you can't die in ghost form but you actually can... " 

George shifts uneasily, visibly disturbed by the new information.

"It's very unlikely though. You can't die by falling or asphyxiation or any other natural way. The only way you can die is if an object in the ghost world or another ghost kills you." 

I look over to George and he raises an eyebrow in confusion.

"An object in the ghost world...?" He asks. 

"Ghosts live on a different plane than the human world. Of course we can reach out and interact with it by crossing the universal film that separates the planes but only our hands can usually do that because it takes focus and energy to touch something in a different plane of existence." I explain.

"So, our hands can grab an object in the human world but we can't like wear clothes?" George asks with newfound curiosity.

"Essentially yes." I clarify nodding my head.

"What are ghost objects?" 

"Ghost objects are objects that we had on our person when we died. I have my mask," I gesture towards the white smiley mask resting on the left side of my face. "And of course I'm wearing my green hoodie and ripped black skinny jeans. You have your glasses as well. But perhaps if you died with a pocket knife in your pocket, the knife would be a ghost object. some ghosts have weapons that could kill you. Nobody knows what happens when you die a second time... all we know is that you don't come back."

George grimaced at the mention of dying a second time. I reckon he's going to have some trauma form seeing his body mangled like that. 

"I'm gonna be stuck in these clothes for the rest of my life." He groans into his hands.

"Yep! Unless you take the clothes of another ghost. Which I don't advise at all. They can choke you to death, as long as they have hands that is."

"Thats a bit dark, Dream." George spaces out looking at the road in front of us.

"I suppose it is. Any questions?" I ask with a lopsided smile.

"Yeah actually. Why do you have that bullet hole in your neck?" George's tone is cautious and he tip-toes around the subject of my wound. 

"It's the scar of how I died." I answer immediately, I'm not bothered talking about it.

"Why don't I... You know... " He trails off into incoherent mumbling.

"Oh, your heart stopped at the impact. The damage to your body only happened mere seconds after your brain activity stopped. When your brain stops you feel like your falling but can easily be brought back to consciousness. So the 'scar' on your body is that your heart probably doesn't beat."

George raises his hand and tenderly placed it to his chest. His eyes widen.

"You're right... It doesn't beat... "


	5. Five

It's possibly one of the strangest things I've experienced. I'm so used to resting my hand on my chest and feeling the soft rhythmic beating of my heart and the rise and fall of my chest.

I furrowed my eyebrows and scrunched up my nose. It would definitely take some time to get used to this.

"You okay?" Dream turns his head in concern. My heart begins to race.

Wait what?

"What..." I trail off. "This is so weird." I drop my hand into my lap and shake my head.

"George~?" He drawls out the syllables in a teasing tone that makes heat rise to my face as my cheeks tint pink. "What's wrong?" Dream pouts.

"Uh, it's nothing just that my heart doesn't physically beat but I can still feel it pulsing in my chest... Or at least it feels like it's beating but it's actually not..." I doubt I made any sense rambling on about my questions.

"That's actually quite common. It's called phantom sensations. Ironic right? Basically it's when you feel something that isn't actually there. If you've ever felt chills run down your spine because you felt breath against the cusp of your ear even though your alone then you've experienced a phantom sensation." Dream explains using his hands to emphasize his point.

I feel like a child having to learn about not hitting kids on the playground again.

"...like when you fall in lo- George?"

I immediately focus on what Dream was saying when he called my name. 

"Huh? Oh sorry. What were you talking about? I zoned out..." I quickly apologize. Hopefully I didn't miss any important information.

"No problem!" Dream grins. I feel butterflies, I'm gonna break their wings if they don't stop.

"I sometimes just fall out of a conversation too." He rubs the back of his neck widening his smirk. I grin at him, fighting back the urge to comment on his striking smile.

"I was just talking about how it's easy to start liking som-" Dream is interrupted by the light pitter-patter of rain on the ground.

Instinctively I hold out my hand but the rain slips right through it.

"Woah. Now that is really weird." I say mesmerized by the rain falling right through my hand.

"Here."

Dream reaches out and gently cups my hand in his, my hands are soft and delicate compared to his calloused and rough ones. I flinch slightly at the contact which causes him to freeze and hesitate.

"Is this okay, George?" He asks, sincerity and genuine concern in his voice. I release a shaky breath.

"Yes, sorry, I should get used to it soon. Don't worry." I hastily reply, not wanting to hurt his feelings. 

"If you're sure." Dream says softly. 

He takes his other hand to steady my wrist and with my extended hand he presses my palm with his thumb.

"Cup your hand a bit more." He says. I obey, watching closely at what he's doing.

Dream let's go of my wrist to grab my hand that's resting by my side and he brings it into the same position as our other hands. 

His eyes lock onto mine and I subconsciously panic. How is it even possible to have such beautiful eyes?

I avoid his piercing gaze and look down at our hands instead. The rain is steadily falling without the slightest resistance but our hands rest comfortably together. 

I glance up to Dreams neck, if I didn't know better I would think he was a human. He isn't transparent or even pale. He just looks normal. His skin looks smooth like silk and his jawline is toned perfectly to match his wavy dirty blonde hair.

His skin looks kissable...

I'm pulled out of my thoughts when my hands start to heat up. My gaze drifts down and sure enough the faintest yellow glow is glimmering in golden specks over Dreams wrist and presumably over his palms. 

My mouth falls open ever so slightly. I hesitantly turn my attention to Dream, his eyes are closed and his lips are pursed in concentration. 

My skin starts to tingle and I shift back to examining our hands. Rain water is pooling into my palms and slowly dripping to the concrete below us.

I don't feel the water.

the rain picks up and with a loud splash the water that was resting in my palms falls to the ground and coats the sidewalk with clear liquid. 

"Woah..." I gasp softly. "What did you do?" I look back at Dream with curiosity shining in my eyes. His eyelids flutter open and he smiles back at my excitement. 

"I reached out to the human world's plane so I could touch the water. That's why it looked like you were holding it when really I was keeping it all in my palm so that it would flow through your hands." Dream says letting go of my hands, I want him to hold them again.

I push those intrusive thoughts away and instead focus on Dream.


	6. Six

George was grinning like an idiot and his chocolate brown eyes were glistening with curiosity and excitement. 

It was refreshing to see a ghost that's not constantly looking over their shoulder examining the shadows in fear of being watched. Even with our only threat being other ghosts, some are out for blood and won't stop at anything to get it. 

I was going to protect this boy, even if it costs me my life.

"Let's get going. people will be here to get your body soon, and I'm not a huge fan of sirens." I say as I stand up. My voice sounds significantly more distant then before. I hope George doesn't notice.

I hold my hand out to him, he grabs it and hoists himself up. By now it was raining pretty heavily and it was probably around eleven o'clock at night.

"Where should we go? George asks with a slight tilt of his head.

"Anywhere, really. You might want to go back to your house or check up on your family and friends though." I reply glancing to the alleyway to the right of us. Blame it on my anxieties.

"Oh... That does seem like something I should do. Do you think they'll care or even know about the accident?" He asks, his voice softening and breaking with sadness. I feel guilty for bringing up the subject.

"If they're good people, they'll care." I'm not going to assure him that they'll actually care, but I'll try to give him hope for now.

"Then let's just head back to my apartment, might as well just hang out there until the police do their thing with the property." George pauses. He looks like he's contemplating something. "I live alone, and I haven't had contact with my parents for a while." 

Bingo. He was contemplating if he should share information. Good tactics, they'll serve him well. The corner of my mouth lifts slightly into a smirk thinking about the times I used my info to my advantage to throw Wilbur off.

George turns and starts walking off. "We'll have to take the long way. Since the shorter way is back where we came from." 

I force myself to stop thinking about my past and shove my hands into my hoodie pocket.

We walk through the lower class area of the city streets laced with the heavy sent of cigarettes and alcohol. This area was never a place you wanted to be alone, especially at night. 

"Do you usually walk through here, George?" I ask, walking silently beside him keeping a watchful eye for any sort of movement in our vicinity. 

"Only when I must. I work a job in coding and the building is about ten minutes away from where you found me. I only wander around this part of the city when I have somewhere to reach that's easier to get to for here rather than any other way." George answers, seemingly oblivious to the air of danger and fear lingering around us.

He doesn't seem to want to continue the conversation so I don't ask anything else. I can't help but wonder what's going on in his head right now.

Eventually we reach the main area of the city. It's alight with cars and screens. Buildings have advertisements plastered over their windows and billboards are resting in every corner. Clothing stores are packed with new outfits and restaurants have fancy signs made to attract attention. People are scattered around under umbrellas and bundled in raincoat's as it continues to storm. 

George mumbles multiple 'sorry's' to people as he navigates his way through the crowded sidewalk. I chuckle at his forgetfulness. 

"George, you don't need to apologize. You can literally walk right through them." I laugh as I walk through a man standing next to me. George frowns and groans into his hands. 

"I'm not used to this! Nghh." He continues to hide in his palms. 

"That kinda sounds like..like a moan." I laugh at him as his ears turn noticeably more red but my comment must have gotten to him because he peeks out between his fingers.

"I'm groaning, not moaning, Dream! There's a difference." George huffs in annoyance.

"Whatever you say, Gogy." 

"Gogy? What kind of nickname is that?" He pauses. " I can't call you 'Dreamy' or som-" 

"Dreamy!? George thinks I'm dreamy! Aw, George I think your dreamy too!" I wheeze, trying to not lose my composure.

"That's not what I meant! I...fine, how about Dré? Your French now." George smirks still blushing. 

"Oh my God, Dré? That sounds fancy and I'm literally a Florida man George! I wrestle alligators not drink tea!" I wheeze like a teapot, which is ironic because I just said I don't drink tea. 

George finally breaks into a fit of giggles. When he smiles the corners of his eyes wrinkle up and his teeth shine while small dimples form at the corners of his mouth and his eyebrows raise slightly.

He's so cute. George really is to precious for this, and now he's mixed up with me. What if he gets hurt? 

"You're an idiot... Dré." 

George's laugh brings me out of my thoughts. I push my worries away. I said I would protect him, no one will hurt him. 

Not when he's with me.


	7. Seven

"Come on George. Lead the way." Dream says while he fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie. Did I say something wrong?

I stop my giggling and readjust the glasses on my head. 

"Alright it's just around the corner." I nod towards a large building complex adorned with a multitude of windows and balconies. I reach out to grab Dreams hand but hesitate.

Instantly regretting my actions, I pull back my hand and stuff it in my pants pocket. 

I'm definitely more comfortable around him, but I don't want to make it weird. We're just friends, nothing more. Why am I even thinking beyond the boundaries of friends? I barely even know him. Snap out of it George.

I probably made this awkward. Ugh. "We can go through walls as well right?" I ask trying to lighten the mood that has set itself upon me and Dream. 

"To a certain extent, yes. But your subconscious still views the wall as a wall. Thats why we're not falling. The ground is something we can fall through but in the back of our mind it's still a fundamental part of our world so we're 'standing' on it. Same thing with walls and ceilings." Dream gives me a sideways glance. It sends shivers down my spine. "Objects and walls are essentially reversed. Walls are solid unless we focus on them. Objects aren't solid unless we focus on them. To get through a wall, we need to focus on making it 'liquid' so that we can step through it. And to pick up an object we need to focus on making it 'solid.' Understand?" He looks at me directly with his captivating eyes. 

"That makes some sort of sense?" I reply. Trying to make it seem like I have any idea about what he's saying. 

"You sound like your asking a question, George." Dream flashes a small grin. It's enough to make me feel less incompetent. 

"Okay okay! I'm just trying to adjust to this new set of 'rules.'" I make quotations with my fingers tilting my head to the left. 

"We never seem to get anything done. We always get distracted!" Dream laughs remembering all the times in the last few hours where we had something to do or someplace to go but somehow managed to get totally off topic. 

I don't stop to think about what comes out of my mouth next. 

"Maybe you're just really distracting. It's hard to focus on anything besides you." 

My eyes widen as I realize what I just said. Dream is going to be weirded out. Shit.

"I- uhm- really? Is that a bad thing...?" Dream asks. He doesn't sound disgusted, more confused and embarrassed than anything else.

I feel blood rush to my face as it heats up and the all to familiar feeling of blushing takes over my brain. 

"No! It's just... you're really... really..." I fumble over my words trying to find an accurate way to describe the person that is standing in front of me. " ...you're really..." I release a shaky breath I didn't know I was holding.

"...perfect. " I finally breath out. Looking up at Dream and locking our eyes together.

Dream looks stunned for a few moments but soon a soft smile graces his lips and his eyes shine with adoration and sadness. 

"Perfect? I'm far from perfect, George. I can promise you that I have my flaws." He replies, his voice laced with regret.

I muster up my courage and reach out to grasp Dreams hand in mine. 

"Your imperfections and weaknesses are what make you unique and your talents and strengths define you Dream." I say, trying not to break eye contact. "And I know we just met, but I trust you. And I want you to know that you're perfect in my eyes. Your flaws are beautiful. "

"You trust me George?" 

"Yes, I do."

"You shouldn't."


	8. Eight

I rip my hand away from George and pull my hood up. 

"Dream...?" 

By now the rain is pouring down on us from the dark grey storm clouds hanging over the city, glossing over the glass panels and windows and filling the air with the smell of rain. 

I hope George isn't afraid of thunder. 

"You're such an idiot..." Biting my lip and sinking deeper into my hoodie, I watch George's reaction closely for the smallest twitch of his eyebrow or quirk of his lips. "You shouldn't trust everyone you meet. They could hurt you."

"You haven't given me a reason to not trust you... you're innocent unless proven guilty." George mutters under his breath. This isn't going to end well. He doesn't know the horrible things I've done. He doesn't need to know.

"I—well—, George I don't think you understand." My voice drowns out in the surrounding humidity that suffocates my lungs, my throat burning and beads of sweat forming on my forehead. 

Just before I squeeze my eyes shut I catch a glimpse of George reaching forward towards my face. Soft fingers brush the hair away from my eyes and hot breath graces my lips. 

The urge to lean forward almost takes control, I manage to push it down. I don't like George in that way—and never will, I only feel this way because another person hasn't shown me affection in so long. And I crave it. But I won't use George for my own personal gain, and I certainly won't risk our fragile friendship. 

"What don't I understand?" His voice is soft and concerned.

A dark part of me thats been neglected and ignored makes me want to hear that same sickeningly sweet voice scream.

I swallow the nervous lump in my throat, I choke on my words but manage to rush them out just loud enough for George to hear.

"There...are things you don't know, and I...I don't want you to have to find out. The only thing I can tell you is that there's always a deeper meaning, to everything, so just don't assume...t-that I'm a good person..." I stutter. Biting my tongue hard enough to draw blood.

My eyes open to see George looking up at me. He lowers his hand to softly cup my jaw. The noise of the rain and cars fade out, they're replaced with a faint ringing in my ears. 

"The fact that you cared enough to be there for me when I first died shows enough proof that you can be a good person. And that's all that matters." George says to me. I can hear in his tone that he actually does care. And I think that's what worries me the most.

I reach up and softly wrap my fingers around Georges hand, I bring it down so that our hands are intertwined and resting between us. 

"We should go. Come on." George sighs.

His fingers linger between mine but eventually he pulls away. I watch his face turn a shade of petal pink and his shoulders tense up. He turns his back on me and heads in the direction of the apartments. 

I follow him to the front step. 

"So...we just walk through?" George asks staring blankly at the door.

"Focus on it. Imagine it's liquid." I step forward. "Like this." 

I shut my eyes and cut off my surroundings so that the only thing that matters is the door. The familiar sense of tingles and warmth clouds my mind as the door fades into transparency. I slowly walk through the door and open my eyes on the other side. Hopefully that was enough demonstration for George.

I hear a slam on the other side immediately followed by a very angry British shout.

"Dammit! That hurt!" George yells. I snicker at his failed attempt.

I walk back through the door with ease. A smug smile on my face and my hands in my hoodie pocket. 

"Poor Gogy, can't walk through the door." I pat him on the head, ruffling his fluffy brown hair. 

"Shut up Dream, the door has to be broken." George pouts.

"I doubt it. You're probably just not trying hard enough." I joke. "You just have to do what I do!" 

"No thanks, why don't you help me daddy Dream~" George smirks while crossing his arms. My brain momentarily malfunctions.

"What!? WHAT!? WHAT!?" I yell, feeling my face heat up. I'm sure my neck and ears were bright red. George just giggles.

"I said help me Dream!" George laughs. 

"I—You—, Daddy—what—" I scramble through my mind trying to form a coherent response. 

"Come on you big idiot, we're gonna be stuck out here all night." George giggles under his breath clearly amused by my reaction. But you don't just go around calling people daddy! Dammit, this small British man is going to be the second death of me.

"I-" I start to say something but I get cut off.

"No, shhh." George puts his index finger over my lips. Smirking up at me, obviously thinking he's won.

If he wants to play that game, then he better be prepared. 

I quickly part my lips and before George can react I lightly bite down on the tip of his finger. Without breaking eye contact I slowly circle his finger with the tip of my tongue. Luckily all the blood from earlier was gone, if not...then this may have gotten a tad bit...heated.

After I'm satisfied with the shade of red on George's face, I release his finger. 

"Good boy. Now let's get you through this door."


End file.
